Once showered, dressed, coifed and perfumed, I exited Fairy’s Palm Lodge, running around to the side of the apartment block, to the location of my bedroom window. There I returned the ‘secret keys’ to the hiding spot behind the loosened brick, before doing an about face and running to the street and the adjacent bus stop.

Taking the No. 216 bus to Prahran, I got off at the corner of Malvern Road and Chapel Street. I was beginning to fret about finding a gift to take to Brain’s birthday. Truthfully, despite that Desi was going along as well, I remained unenthusiastic about the evening ahead. Although apart of me said it was probably better than sitting around home alone.

I suddenly thought of Alexander. I stopped in my tracks outside a pet store on Chapel Street, and quickly fished out my mobile phone from the pocket of my knapsack. Absently, I looked into the pet store windows as I brought up Alexander’s phone number form the menu.

A couple of cute kittens were frolicking playfully in one window, while fat bellied puppies dozed blissfully in the other; their images of intense sweetness brought a smile to my lips while I listened to the phone ring in my ear.

“Hello…?” Alexander said.

“Hey matey, how you doing?” I asked him, and we exchanged a few pleasantries. He then asked if everything was ok with Michael, and I assure him it was. “I’m on my way to the hospital now,” I informed him. “But just had to stop in Prahran first, to do a couple of things…”

“Oh, ok,” he said.

“But the real reason I rang was to see what you were up to tonight?”

“Um… dunno'… nothing much,” he said softly.

“Excellent,” I said. “Then you can come with me to the party at Nicky’s place,” I told him, and explained it was for Brian’s birthday. “It’ll be huge and fabulous,” I promised.

“Ahmm... I’m not sure, Puck,” Alexander said, sounding uncertain.

“C’mon, it’ll do you good,” I told him. “You’ll have fun. And it’s way better than hanging out at home on your own, right?”

He didn’t say anything, so I pushed onwards. “What else would you do tonight?” I inquired.

“Dunno’… study, I guess,” he offered dubiously.

“Screw that!” I cried. “With all the shit that’s gone down, a few drinks and may be a couple of laughs would do you a whole world of good,” I said. “So I’ll drop round to your place at about 8 o’clock to pick you up, ok?”

I could feel him giving in, and smiled when he said. “Sure, ok… sounds good. Thanks.”

“No probs, matey,” I told him. “OK, well... will we catch you at the hospital a bit later…?” But Alexander informed me that he probably wouldn’t make it that afternoon due to the workload he had at the lab. He indicated he would drop by and see Michael at the end of the day, on his way home. Accepting that, I promised to phone Alexander that if there was anything new to share with him about Michael’s condition.

We said out good-byes and I hung up, replacing the phone in the pouch attached to the shoulder strap of the knapsack. Then I looked again at the puppies in the store window: an utterly brilliant idea came to me! The perfect gift for Brain! Like a man on a mission, I marched on into the pet store…

I set course for the supermarket where Leo was employed as one of the managers. There were three competing supermarkets in the Prahran area, all within a minute or two’s walk from the corner of Commercial Road and Chapel Street.

Once inside the supermarket, I made my way to the front desk with it’s Customer Service Section banner above it, and there encountered a rather rotund, matronly woman with a bright red face that reminded me of a withered tomato.

“Hello there,” I greeted her brightly as she stuffed cigarettes into the displays that lined a partition behind her. As if allergic to cheerfulness, the woman regarded me suspiciously, though afraid she might catch it.

“Can I help you…?” she asked, to which I almost replied: “Aside you having settled the question of my sexuality for All time, there isn’t much more I can imagine you could do for me…”

“Well, thank you for asking!” I said with syrupy gratitude. “As a matter of fact, yes, there is – I’m here to see Leo Clarke. Would you be able to get him to come down from the office?” I asked her.

“Is he expecting you?” she asked.

“Oh no,” I replied. “Well, not really…”

“So you don’t have an appointment?”

“Do I need one?” I inquired, looking surprised. “If I’d known I’d needed an appointment, I would’ve had my PA call ahead and organise it,” I told her.

She looked me up and down, taking in the torn dark denim jeans, the too small pale blue T-shirt that had a small picture of a cow on it, with the slogan Moo above it, not to mention the white leather, metal studded belt. I wondered what she made of the spike that pierced my left eyebrow? Somehow, I didn’t think she was buying the whole ”PA” angle.

“Mr. Clarke is out sick today,” she informed me at last. “Can I pass on a message?” she asked, seeing the disappointment on my face.

’Sick, eh?’ I thought to myself. ’Is he really sick…? Or is he hiding…?’

“As a matter of fact,” I said, brightening up once more, and taking in her name badge: “Beverly, that would be just swell of you, if you would?” And she nodded, still harboring wariness in her tiny, grey eyes that were lodged between rolls of flabby red skin. “Juts let Leo know that Puck dropped by and that me and the boys will be catching up with him real soon, ok, sweetie?”

“Sure thing,” she replied.

“Have a fabulous day,” I advised her, and made my way to the exit.

We took up a corner of the waiting room where the girls subsequently filled me in on what had been happening. Desi had been the first to arrive at the hospital, soon followed by Tish. Together they’d approached the reception desk and had managed to track down a doctor who could bring them up to date with Michael’s condition.

“So how is he?” I asked.

“His condition is much the same,” replied Tish. “Still listed as critical, but he has stabilised.”

“And any more seizures?” I asked her. She nodded grimly. “So what do they think is going on?”

“I don’t think they’re sure yet, babe,” Desi answered sadly.

“They’ve gone over the MRI,” Tish informed me. “The damaged disc is pinching the R-5 root nerve. There’s a fair bit of damage in that area,” and she indicated her own lumbar region. “It may have something to do with the seizures, or it may not. The good news is that they didn’t find anything in the scans of the cortex to indicate he’s suffered neurological damage. There’s no indication of clotting or anything like that.”

“In other words, we don’t know any more now than we did this morning,” I muttered with a deep sense of frustration.

“Hun, it’s going to take a bit of time,” Tish said. “The neurologists are looking into it… he’s got a good team of doctors looking after him,” she assured me. “They’ll figure it out, you’ll see.” She paused for a moment. “Um, there was one other thing they did tell us,” she said.

“Yeah…? What…?”

“They’ve got a prelim on the tox report, from his blood test,” Tish said. And then she outlined that amongst traces of sedatives, antidepressants, painkillers and so forth, small amounts of amphetamines and ketamine were discovered as well.

“Jesus,” I sighed. “That’s some cocktail.”

She nodded. “Yeah… the staff here seem pretty amazed that he survived as long as he did, before Alexander found him. In fact, they’re amazed he’s alive at all.”

“But Michael doesn’t do drugs,” I pointed out to her. “Well, hardly ever… where do you think he got them?” I wondered aloud

Michael’s disinclination to take drugs (rendering him an anomaly amongst staff and patrons alike) was well known by staff and certain key, long term patrons. For Michael to actively obtain ecstasy pills, speed or ‘Special K’ ought to have caused a few ripples on the gay grapevine, and news should’ve made it’s way to my ears. But it hadn’t – why?

Tish shook her head. “No idea… guess the most logical place is from one of the dealers at The Depot,” she supposed, and I nodded.

“But the good news is that we can see him,” Desi interjected, a smile on her face. “We’ve just been waiting for you to rock up… then we can stick our heads in and see Michael for about 10 minutes or so.”

I apologised for my tardiness, explaining that I’d had to stop off in Prahran and pick up a present and card for Brian. I did not mention Leo Clarke, nor would I until I was more certain of what was going on and how Leo was involved – if at all – in Michael’s present predicament.

Moments later, we approached the reception desk and Tish asked if we could see Michael. One of the nurses escorted us to his room.

The three of us gathered around him quietly, and yet on the surface of it, we were each trying to appear ‘normal’ and relaxed about it. Desi took a chair and sat at his side while Tish seized the opportunity to go over his medical chart once more. In a casual gesture, I parked myself on the edge of his bed, careful to avoid sitting on wires or tubes that may otherwise prove life threatening if cut off.

Michael lay there unmoving, except for the rise and fall of his chest, his eyes closed. Despite his passive state, as I absorbed the state of his physicality, nothing about it seemed peaceful to me. He looked as though he’d been punched in both eyes, then left in a sunless box for six months, subsisting on a diet of water and bread. His skin remained pallid, with the exception of the numerous red dots that blemished his nose and spread out beneath his eyes.

“Tish… what are those?” I asked.

She looked up from her examination of the medical file as she replied: “What are ‘what’, hun?”

I pointed to Michael’s face. “Those,” I said again. “The little red dots... looks like he’s been bitten by a bug or something…”

Tish set the medical file back in its place at the end of Michael’s bed and came around the side of the bed, between Desi and I, and leaned in to check out the blemishes for herself.

“Hmmm,” she said. “I’m not sure… looks a little like petechial hemorrhaging,” she said in a tone as though Desi and I ought to have slapped our respective hands to our foreheads and cried: “Oh! But of course! How silly of me!” But instead, I replied in a far more eloquent manner: “Huh?”

Standing upright, Tish went into ‘teacher-mode’: “The lining of the blood vessels are really fragile, and sometimes they can be damaged,” she said. “This can result in the capillaries bursting at numerous points, creating the effect of something like a rash… still, it is kind of surprising to see it on his face…” she remarked.

“Why’s that?” I asked her.

Tish looked a bit uncomfortable. “Well... it’s something you tend to come across in patients who have been starved of oxygen for a significant period of time,” she said, her brows knitting together.

“Ok, so like if they’ve choked on something?” Desi suggested. “Like, may be Michael was choking on vomit…. Or may be when his lung gave out?

Tish should her head. “Not impossible, but not very likely in Michael’s case,” she said. “No, we usually only see it in people who have been … well, attacked.”

“Attacked?” I echoed.

Tish nodded slowly. “It’s common in victims of strangulation… or if they’ve been smothered.”

A sour, bitter sensation rose from my stomach, burning up to the core of my chest. I looked on at Michael with renewed horror. “Someone did this to him…?” I cried. “Is that what you’re -?”

Tish shook her head. “Puck, stop it!” she cried. “We can’t be sure of anything,” she pointed out. “Until Michael wakes up, we cannot know what happened. Assuming he does wake up,” she added hesitantly.

I stood up from the bed and ran my fingers through my hair, pacing at the foot of the bed. The girls observed me, their expressions dark and troubled. I paused in my pacing and regarded them levelly. “Michael didn’t do this to himself. I don’t care what that email to Alexander says – someone did this to him,” I cried. “And I’m going to find out who.”

“Puck!” Tish cried. “Waging a one man campaign over this isn’t going to help him,” she said. “And it’s not going to help you, either… or us,” she concluded.

“What do you mean?” I snapped.

But Tish just shook her head, appearing unwilling to say more. Desi cleared her throat and spoke up instead.

“I think what Tish is getting at is this; you’re having a tough time with what’s happened to Michael – we all are,” Desi remarked. “But at some stage, baby, you’re going to have to accept the fact that Michael tried to kill himself; he wanted to die. No one else is involved. It’s like the note said: it was his choice.”

“Suicide notes can be faked,” I countered. “Michael would not do this!”

“It wasn’t faked,” Tish protested, “and Michael did do this! To himself, and to us! Deal with it!” she cried. “I’m just surprised that he didn’t do it sooner…” she mumbled.

“What?” I gasped, stunned, as she turned away from me. “What did you say?” I demanded.

Picking up on the aggressive tone of my voice, Desi got up from her chair and stood between Tish and I. “C’mon, Puck, just chill baby… We’re all tired and scared and worried…”

“No,” I said calmly. “I want to hear what Tish has got to say… I want to know what she meant by that fucked-up remark.”

Tish came round to face me, her expression softening. “Puck… I know how much you love him,” she said. “We all do,” she assured me. “But some times you just don’t seem to see what’s really going on… you don’t see what’s there, hidden beneath the surface…” She paused while I waited in mounting anger for her to go on.

“Michael has been unhappy for a long time,” Tish stated. “We all know that. But it wasn’t just unhappiness of the generic, run-of-the-mill kind. He was in agony with it, Puck – absolute agony,” Tish said earnestly. “You know how he described it to me once?” she asked. I shook my head.

Tish quietly drew in a breath before continuing. “Months ago he and I were yakking at the bar one night… we were pretty trashed,” she said with a half-smile. “And we got onto the whole depression thing – forget how, exactly. But I’ll always remember this: he looked at me and he said, in that funny, little-boy-serious way of his: ’Tish, its like I wake up every day and every day a tiny piece of me is dying. And it takes all day long for that piece to die as it rips itself out of my body, out of my soul… and then I wake up the next day, and it just starts all over again. It’s cancer, cherub - cancer of the soul – a terminal disease, and there isn’t no cure. Not for all of us, anyway.’” Tish fell silent.

At that point, the meaning of what Tish had told me had yet to penetrate the hot anger and resentment I was feeling. “So what are you saying, Tish? That you understand why he did this? I mean, it sounds to me like you’re saying suicide was like Michael’s form of ‘euthanasia’ or something…. And that you approve!”

“Puck!” Desi cried warningly. “That’s an awful thing to say,” she hissed.

“No, let him go,” Tish remarked. But now my attention was on Desi.

“What about you? Do you agree with Tish?” I asked her. Desi shrugged, her large dark eyes glittering with emotion.

“May be….” She replied.

“Fuck me!” I bellowed in disbelief.

“I believe a person has a right to chose how their life will end when a disease that is ravaging them body and spirit,” Tish interjected. “I might not agree with their choice, but I have to respect their tight to make it.”

“Ah-huh,” I said, nodding at her. “So tell me – is that the reason why you lied, Tish?” Both Desi and I saw her blink at me in amazement. “Yeah, I know you lied about when you last saw Michael. You were there on Sunday some time… you left your cigarette butts behind,” I informed her. “So tell us, what were you doing there? Were you a part of his Suicide Cheer Squad? I mean, has this been going on – planned behind my back – for months and months…? And Desi, what about you…?”

“Puck!” Desi wailed in horror.

“Just stop it,” Tish cried, her voice breaking, revealing a crack in her otherwise calm demeanor. “Leave Desi out of this – she had nothing to do with it,” she said, her tone growing harder.

I wheeled back round on Tish. “Nothing to do with ‘it’…? What ‘it’, Tish?” Tish’s eyes darted anxiously from side to side then glanced down at the floor. I saw Desi’s expression alter as she watched and waited for Tish to answer. It seemed Desi, too, was beginning to suspect the worst.

“Oh God… Tish… what did you do?” Desi cried, her hands held up to her face.

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